


Contents of a Note Labeled: To Anders

by moodymarshmallow



Series: The Elf and the Apostate [12]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow





	Contents of a Note Labeled: To Anders

I think firsts are rather important. Not to the exclusion of all others, but they have significance. First hunt, first kill, first kiss, first love—these are all memories that should be held closely, and kept with the reverence that they deserve. Lifetimes are built on firsts, starting with nothing and turning it into experience and skill. Love is built on firsts: the first time you realize that you’re different, the first time you meet someone that’s okay with that, the first time you touch your lover’s face, his hands, his chest…We have had firsts, together, you and I. But you’re making me think that “first” is not what’s important.   
  
I was attracted to you long before I was willing to admit it to you, much less myself. It was at the statue of Andraste; you called me sweet, not in the joking way that you talked to Oghren or Nathaniel, and I could tell that you meant it. I thought then that I would like to hear you say that again; perhaps a dozen times, perhaps more, perhaps whispered directly into my ear so that I could feel your lips when you said it.   
  
You can’t even begin to understand how strange it was for me. When I was a child, I was taught to keep away from humans, that they were akin to monsters. I was taught of the Exalted March and the slaughter of my people. I was taught of how when an elf and a human lie together, the offspring is always a human, because your blood taints ours and removes our magic from it. I realize that the last item on that list is not a concern, but just the same, feeling attraction to you was wrong. But, by then, I’d been questioning everything.   
  
Your kiss, your touch—if they’re wrong, then I no longer care about being right.   
  
I will tell you everything one day. Please wait for me to become courageous enough to do it.   
  
I found your note, that filthy one you didn’t want me to see. It’s mine now, like your shirt with the elfroot stains, and you can’t have it back. Not because I’m angry, but because I’m amused, and because I like reading it and imagining you bent over the page with your quill, licking your lips the way you do when you’re excited, and thinking about me on my knees between your legs. If you like that so much, why don’t you ever ask me? I like it too. You don’t have to be always so delicate with me. I’m not as strong as you, but I’m stronger than you think I am.   
  
Should play the bad author too? Should I write about how you quiver when I look at you a certain way? Don’t think I don’t notice that. Should I write about the hair on your chest, on your arms, on your legs, and how, even though I found that odd at first, it excites me? Maybe I’ll write about how much bigger than me you are, how I have to stretch on my toes to kiss you even when you bend to meet me, and how very, very much I like feeling small like that. I could write a lot about how much I like the feel of your stubble on my inner thighs—don’t you ever shave your face clean, ever. I’ll be terribly upset with you.   
  
And yes, Anders.   
  
I am yours.


End file.
